September 16, 2016
I never had the urge to climb into my parents’ bed with them when it was young. I remember the reason why distinctly. They used to leave the door to their bedroom open and it was clear that they weren’t having a good time. It was very common to hear my mother yelling at my father, “Joe, stop digging your arm into my side!” “Joe, you’re toenail just scratched my leg!”
(My Dad was always proud of the work he put into his feet)
Whatever frightening image might have been running through my child’s mind was much easier to deal with than the thought of the Thunderdome match going on in the master bedroom of the Hurley House. Knowing how conservative my Irish Catholic parents are and leaving their door open are the things that calm my spirit and convince me that they weren’t engaging in rough sex.
The other morning my wife got up from bed and brought back a particularly snotty child. I didn’t notice right away. I turned and noticed that Arthur was lying in between us and said to my wife, “There’s a baby in the bed.” It seemed like such an odd occurrence that I didn’t even refer to him by name. He could have been anyone’s baby. It only took me a few seconds to look at him lying there to think, “Wow, who would have thought that one day I’d be in bed with my wife with OUR child in between us”? I was gearing up for my first poignant moment as a father. The type I hear from other parents about the touching and momentous feelings people get as parents. Of course, over the next twenty eight minutes Arthur proceeded to blow his nose all over on the pristine Norman Rockwell portrait in my mind.
(Here you go, Arthur! Take a giant wiz on this while you’re at it.)
Here’s a diary of how things went from 6am to 6:28am when I woke up a half hour earlier than I needed to. I didn’t look at the clock so all these times are just approximate fabrications.
6:01am – Arthur starts things off by by picking my nose. He may have been checking to make sure that I wasn’t suffering from sleep apnea. He wasn’t just satisfied with putting one finger in my nose. He got at least three of those stubby little things up my right nostril.
(I think Arthur has a bucket list of celebrities whose noses he’s like to pick)
6:04am – He becomes bored with picking my nose and places a pillow over my head. You know what’s even more effective than a snooze alarm? Having a child try to euthanize you in your sleep every few minutes. It really keeps you on your toes.
6:10am – After spending a few minutes torturing my wife in an unspeakable manner, Arthur turned back to me. This time he attempts to strangle me with my wife’s ear buds. He’s unable to get the cord fully around my neck and gives up after a couple of minutes. It’s his second assassination attempt in less than ten minutes. I’m hoping that he’s not packing heat.
(Kids! Am I right!?)
6:13am – I was wrong. Arthur is packing heat. He gambled and lost on a fart. How do I know it’s not just a fart? His gas usually dissipates in 10-15 seconds. This stench isn’t going anywhere. My nostrils are burning for about five minutes until all the olfactory cells in my nose have died. I guess he’s finally succeeded in killing something.
6:19am – Poopy pants starts barking at the dog lying on the floor. The dog has had enough and walks out of the room and I realize he will go an occupy the couch in the living room. The dog is officially brighter than me.
6:23am – Arthur starts humping a pillow, followed by sneezing on it. He’s treating that pillow worse than my Dad treated my Mom in bed.
6:26am – He spends some time pulling the hair on my leg.
6:28am – He sneezes on my leg. I think 1/3 of his body weight in mucus is on my right calf. I shoot him a look and see that my wife is lying on her side with her eyes wide open like a stunned zombie. I decide it’s time to get a head start on my 7am shower. A shower that will be much more extensive on this particular morning.
This is how it went. I wasn’t serene or idyllic. Sharing a bed with my wife and son involved several murder attempts, a lot horrific bodily fluids, hair plucking and human barking. And this was the laid back kid!! If Charles was lying in between us he would never have given up so easy on trying to kill us and you wouldn’t be reading this meandering post right now.
Chances are, Charles is YOUR favorite today.
Least Favorite Child Results
September 10 – Least Favorite is Charles. Every now and then I choose dinner for the boys. And almost every time Charles lets me know his opinion of my choice by batting the spoon out of my hand and it’s contents flying behind me. We have permanent pasta stains on the kitchen wall at this point.
September 11 – Least Favorite is Arthur. Some kids tend to be droolers, but Arthur is setting the bar of achievement in this arena pretty high. He can turn his shirt into a damp rag in minutes.
September 12 – Least Favorite is Charles. Charles likes to rely on some of the standard annoying toddler methods. He’s read the playbook and follows it precisely. His annoying baby 101 move this evening was taking every single Kleenex out of the box and onto the floor while I turned away for no more than five seconds. he would have been a great contestant on Minute To Win It.
September 13 – Least Favorite is Arthur. Arthur clearly wants his privacy because he keeps taking the baby monitor and hiding it. He’s unaware that watching him sleep is NOT appointment TV.
September 14 – Least Favorite is Arthur. **See above post.
September 15 – Least Favorite is Charles. He likes to wake up a half hour before I need to and babbles to himself in his crib loudly. He may be broadcasting a morning drive time radio show for babies.
Least Favorite Child Year One – Charles
Total Days As Least Favorite Child – Year Two
Arthur – 55
Charles – 50
Days since Neil Patrick Harris received my post and hasn’t responded – 403